


He (Dodgeball-ed) Punched the Highlights Out of His Hair

by orphan_account



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: I wrote this when I was twelve, Italian Character(s), M/M, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Unrequited Crush, i could probably cook up a quick ending, if really wanted, it gets better around chapter nine, it's up to you, just a couple thousand words of gerard being the shy artist type and frank being talkative, semi-abandoned, they go on a coffee date, they're in high school
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-22
Updated: 2018-08-22
Packaged: 2019-06-30 23:41:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 5,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15762141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: A high school AU i wrote in middle school and was an entire baby, but it's the thought that counts





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Was multichapter, the writing gets better around the end because I revived it

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> yes i know chapters 1-8 are xtra bad  
> yes the title is a ref from scott pilgrim vs the world, the best movie produced before babydriver (2017)

I sighed, sitting at the kitchen, staring at my reflection in my cup of coffee. Thinking about another day in hell; Belleville High School. And, it's not even because I get bullied, really. I mean, everyone hates high school. But more of the fact of how little it helps anything. You see, I wanted to go to art school, and be a comic book artist. When will knowing the dates of wars, or being able to find the value of x help me? Who even thought it was a good idea to put the letters in math?! 

  I took a sip of my now room-temperature beverage, looking at the window, making sure that the bus doesn't go by my house without my knowing.

  "Mikey, you're going to be late!" I screamed.

  Mikey was my little brother. He's going in ninth grade this year, poor kid. Unlike me, however, he was accepted into Pencey Prep Academy. According to his grades in middle school, he was gifted in science, already past physics. Pency is some fancy school, uniforms and all. I waited for him to come down, anticipating his arrival. I heard him running down the stairs. I looked up, to see my little brother, clad in a suit and tie, his thick black glasses perched on his nose.

  "Don't say anything Gee, " he warned, pointing a finger at me.  
 I obeyed, holding back laughter.  
  "Coffee's in the pot, Michael," I informed him.  
 He sighed, and took a spot at the table, looking at me innocently.  
   "Gerard?"  
 "Yeah Mikes?"  
   "Um... What's high school like?"  
 Mikey seemed to be shivering in fear, nervous of my answer, though I didn't blame him. I remember how terrifying it was to go to ninth grade. It's all so easy in elementary school, and then middle school goes by in a messy blur of locker combos and gym changing rooms, neither of which are even close to pleasant. Then, as soon as you adjust, they throw you in high school. I didn't really think it was fair, honestly.  
  "Gee?!"  
 Mikey waved his hand in front of my face. Guess I dozed off.  
    "Yeah Mikes?"  
 He sighed again.  
  "I asked you what high school was like."  
    "Um..." I started, trying to put it as lightly as possible. "More jocks... More homework... Relationships... Uhhh..."   
 I racked my brain, trying not to sound like I'd missed my first two years in "hell."  
    "You don't have to use your lockers anymore because people steal stuff?"   
  I smiled slightly, trying to lighten the mood.  
  "Oh," was all that Mikey said, before he ran outside, catching his bus.  
    "BYE MIKEY!"


	2. Chapter 2

  I yawned. I looked around, seeing that I fell asleep playing guitar. Again. Carefully, I put Pansy down on her stand, next to me. Yes, my guitar is a she. Obviously. I rubbed my eyes, and picked out a random shirt and pair of pants, along with underwear and a towel, running to the bathroom. I showered quickly, with the heat on high, slightly burning my skin, but enjoying the steam. After I was finished, I dried off, and changed into my clothes; a random black and red shirt with blue jeans with holes in the knees. I shrugged, it was acceptable. I went into my room, chucking on a pair of sneakers. My eyes fell on a stick of liquid eyeliner lying on the floor...

  I picked it up, testing it on my finger. It didn't seem clumpy. Hmm...   
I ran back into the bathroom, in front of the mirror. Taking the make-up to my eye carefully, I tried to put it on like my mom did, and how I saw on tv, hoping for the best. I tried it with my eyes closed, but when that proved too difficult, I opened my eyes, looking in the mirror and cringing.   
  Black ink was smudged in uneven strokes around my eyelid.

 "No no no..." I mumbled to myself, trying to wipe it off with a facecloth.   
I looked at myself again and groaned. Why today?   
 The black goo moved around, making my eyes look like those of a panda zombie corpse.   
I gave in to taking as much off as I could with my fingers. I looked at the eyeliner bottle with disgust, pointing my middle finger at it.  
 "Never again..."

  I hurried off to the kitchen in search of food.  
Grabbing a slice of pizza and five dollars, I made my way to the school bus. 

  My destination was Belleville High.   
Honestly, of all the places I could be going, why did it have to be there?


	3. Chapter 3

 I walked slowly to my bus stop, holding my heavy bag on my shoulder. First day of school, and we have to hand in our summer projects. What's the point of summer if we have work to do?! Ugh, at least we could write a  creative story.   
  See, art and English are the only classes I'm really looking forward to. I mean, art is an obvious; but, I really like ELA too, what can I say? Every comic book needs a plot. 

  I held my sketchbook close to my chest. It was slightly too tall to fit in my canvas bag, which was kind of sad, honestly. I mean, the bag costed twenty dollars, and it's not like the art book was THAT big. 

  While walking to my spot, I noticed another kid was standing there, waiting.   
I was curious to say the least. This kid had to be younger than Mikey, I mean, he was barely five feet tall! And, it's not even like I recalled having any neighbors our age in a long time, since Tyler moved out, and that was three years ago.   
 The boy was interesting, however. Even though he was short, that wasn't the only reason he stood out to me. Belleville, New Jersey didn't have many kids that looked as he did. He seemed... Different somehow. 

  He had long-ish brown hair, which didn't look exactly well kept. He wasn't built like the jocks either, and he didn't seem like one of the many kids who sold drugs as if they were candy. He truly had the air of a genuinely nice person.  That's pretty uncommon, especially at seven AM on the first day of school in NJ.  
 He looked at me, and I smiled at him, but then I saw it.  
The boy had large hazel eyes, and strangely, they fit him, in a way. He's pretty, I think to myself.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> so climatic lol sorry I was twelve

 I was fixing the straps of my bag pack when another boy came up, standing up with me. I looked up at him shyly, to find him staring in my eyes. I was mentally screaming at him, "Get out of my face!" Of course, being the polite little leprechaun I am, I didn't say anything, I just looked back at him. He kept looking at me, and a wave of panic washed over me, suddenly shy. He got the message, and embarrassment flashed on his face. It almost would've been cute, had he not been staring at me creepily only a few moments prior.

  "Oh my god, I'm so sorry! " he said, rushed.  
    "It's okay," I replied. Hey, at least he wasn't rude.  
  The boy sighed of relief, and put his hand out to me.  
  "That was kinda creepy of me," he laughed softly, "Um, I'm Gerard."  
      I smiled at the boy, Gerard, and shook his hand.  
      "I'm Frank"


	5. Chapter 5

 A few minutes later, the bus had come. Me and Frank had been talking about music. Music had never really been my forte, but the other boy's eyes sparkled when I mentioned my taste in it.   
    "You seriously like the Misfits too?! No way, I thought I was the only one!" Frank exclamed, going back and forth on the balls of his feet. Cutie.  
  "Of course I like the Misfits, how could someone not?"   
     Frank grinned, and I smiled back.   
    "Hey, Gerard, wanna sit next to me?" he asked.  
  "Sure, why not?" I replied.  
    The bus ride was long; we were nearly the first stop, save for a couple of quiet kids sitting up front. We, of course, sat at the back. The bus filled up, and Frank and I just talked for a long time about unimportant things, just relaxing. Being ourselves. It was a nice change from the usual, sitting alone with my books. The time flew by, and the next thing I knew, we had reached the school.  
   "What class do you have first, Gee?" Frank asked, and I blushed slightly at the nickname.  
    "History. What about you Frankie?" I used his new nickname, waiting for some type of reaction.  
   "Me too!" He grinned widely.  
  That went better than expected.  
 We walked next to each other to our lockers, as we were both on the same floor. I entered my combination, and put my bag in the locker, slamming it shut, taking my supplies for the morning. I walked into history class, and I saw Frank motioning to the seat next to him. I sat down next to him in the blue plastic chair. The walls were off white, and a black chalkboard was in the front of the room. New yellow pieces of chalk sat under the board, next to a black chalk eraser. A name was written on the board.  
   "Mr. Raposo"  
  A man sat in the back of the room in a swivel chair.   
    "Hello class. I will be your teacher for history this year."  
  He stood up and turned the projector on the wall, and a video started up. PowerPoint.   
    "These are the rules to my room. Here, pass this out"  
  Mr. Raposo passed me a pile of sheets of paper with the same this on the wall written on it. I complied, handing the pile to Frank, and soon, it had been passed all the way around the room.  
     "Follow these rules, and we can have a fun, productive school year."  
  The PowerPoint started up. All the things on our papers were addressed, and the clock ticked by. Ten more minutes...  
    A hand tapped lightly on my shoulder.  
  "Hey Gee"  
     "Hey Frankie," I whispered back.  
  "What class are you going to next?"  
    "I have French."  
  "Sweet, me too"  
 Guess me and Frank would have a lot of classes together today then.


	6. Chapter 6

The day did in fact include a lot of classes with Frankie. And I think I'm pretty okay with that. Frank's really rad, he likes a lot of music, and he writes some too. He even plays guitar! I mean I play guitar too, if you're using "playing guitar" loosely. I can play a couple riffs on it, but that's different. He's been in bands since he was eleven,  what am I doing with my life? 

 Nice Gerard,  you're gonna sound like a creeper. You just met him, calm down...  
   I sighed.  
"Hmm Gee?" Frank queried.   
   "Oh, uh, nothing," I stuttered back in reply.  
 "Okay," Frank grinned. I swear to god, this guy is going to be the death of me.  
This little 5 foot nothing kid is going to be the death of me. Fucking midget powers.  
    "C'mon Gee!" Frank proceeded to giggle... Like a fucking schoolgirl! Frank Iero, can you not?   
  Maybe it's for the best? Maybe I'm just meant to crush on people too hard, too fast. I'm just meant to never fall in love because I like all my friends. Maybe I'm just meant to sound like a creeper, creeping all my friends away, and be alone. Forever.   
Snap out of it Gerard! You have a tiny crush on your new friend, you're not a pedophile. You'll grow out of it, I mean, I've always had a thing for short people... Yeah, obviously, you have a crush on your friend because he's short.  
 Okay, chill down Gerard. You just have a lot in common with him, that's never happened before. You just don't want to be alone. Yeah, let's go with that.

I suddenly felt a hand grasp mine... And drag me...


	7. Chapter 7

  I grabbed Gerard's hand and dragged him into the locker room. Can't be late to gym class. I don't even know why people say it's so awful, I mean, it could be worse, right? I felt Gerard stiffen.  
   "C'mon Gee!" I giggle. He seems to relax a bit, and walks in, still holding my hand, making me blush a bit. His hand was really warm in contrast to mine, and I can't really complain.   
   I open my locker and grab my clothes for gym and change in the bathroom quickly,  I've never really changed in front of people,  it makes me really uncomfortable with everyone staring at you. I hop back into the locker room, waiting for Gerard to finish so we can go in class. I'm in my tee shirt, basketball shorts, and sneakers. Not my first choice of clothing, but at least i don't do sports, otherwise I'd have to look like this a lot more. I internally cringe of distaste.   
    Gerard is finally ready for class, and we walk into the gym together. We get insults thrown at us; Assholes. Just because we hang out together doesn't make us boyfriends. Friends can hang out together. Right?  
  And, of course, like every cliche high school story ever made, we have; drumroll please; Dodgeball. But, contrary to that, the teams are fair. Sorta. Me and Gee aren't on the same team, which sucks. But, I mean, it's not all scary kids who look like they belong in prison.  Sure, there are jocks, but I can deal with them.  
    The game starts off slowly, and my goal is to get out as soon as possible so I don't have ton play, while getting minimal pain, and giving minimal effort. And, I aim for the weak kids. I doubt they really want to play either. I get a few smaller kids down, and they seem grateful enough to not have been plowed down into oblivion.  Once I've cleared out the weaker kids, some of them unfortunate to have been knocked down roughly by other guys, some gently defeated.  Me and Gerard end up being the last people that are left that honestly don't want to here. So, I go to get him out... But I didn't hit him first....


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> btw if u recognize this from Quotev...? good luck charlie

    I walked out into the gym. I really didn't want to be here. The teacher broke us up into two groups, me on the left side of the room, Frank on the right.   
    The gym teacher was a premature balding guy, who was either 20 years old or 60 years old, but no one can really tell. He was EXTREMELY loud, and had a thing for blowing his stupid whistle right in our fucking ears. And, for making sure we all "got proper exercise and diet to live a healthy lifestyle." Bless you bleed out on your deathbed. 

  Dodgeballs were set out at half court. Shit.  
Of fucking course; Dodgeball. Couldn't be baseball. Couldn't be running. Couldn't even be goddamn yoga. Dodgeball.

    Before I could even fully assess the situation,  that stupid whistle had been blown,  signalling the start of the game. I quickly grabbed a ball, not wanting to have nothing to defend myself with. I didn't really have a plan. I never really do, but oh well.

   I played along with the game, properly protecting myself. Until now.  
All the shitty people were gone. It was me and a buff looking guy on my side and Frank and two other jocks on the other side. Out of fucking nowhere, two balls were thrown in my direction. And then I flew backwards.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the first meaty post-revival piece

        I hold the ice pack to my eye, letting out an exasperated sigh as the perpetration of the Ziploc bag drips down my cheek.  Same shit as always.

        But, of course, this same shit as always had to happen in the middle of class.  Sure, no one really cares, either everyone was too busy on their Snapchat to notice, or, more likely, everyone noticed because they were on Snapchat and my failure at athletics has been broadcast to the whole school.  Rad.

        What bothers me more than y'know, the nice shiner I am sure I will be sporting for the next week, however is... Uh, how did I get in the nurse's office again? Not to be dramatic, but I would rather die than have it be Frank.  Swallowing my pride I turn my head to the left and move the ice pack out of the way and.  Oh.  I'm here by myself.  Rad.  

        Sighing again, knowing I have a flair for the dramatic, or I just have teenage angst, take your pick, I place the ice pack back on my face.

        "Miss May, can you call my mom to pick me up?  My head hurts," I lie, "And I don't think I'd be able to pay attention in class the rest of the day.  She can pick me up, I'd just need to go to the locker room to grab my things."  I make a pained face to emphasize my point.  It's a Monday, please have mercy.

        The benevolent nurse bumps her glasses back up her nose with her red manicured nail and spins her swivel chair to a filing cabinet, and begins to sort through the small contact cards with all of our information. Score.

        "Just write out a hall pass and grab your things, then you can go home as long as your mom can get you," she speaks, grabbing my file and typing out the number on her phone before signing the pass I hand her, and I begin on my merry way.  Sure, it'd have been better if I could've skipped more class, but at least I get to dodge the bus. Ugh.

        I make my way down to the locker room.  I... seriously don't know how I got to the nurse's office.  Honestly I'm kinda dizzy and nauseous, but it's cool. I'm cool.  Just get your shit and go home and nap, Gee. Just grab your things, it's cool, it's fine, you're fine, everything's fine.

 ...

        And suddenly I'm face-down on the cold public school floor, fuck my life, I quit.  I'm over it, so over it.  

        I. Just chill there on the floor for a moment.  No one's in the hallway, the floor is cold and soothing.  It's almost like a spa.  

        Okay someone just gasped, let's get off the floor Gerard, you are odd.

        I push myself off the ground quickly, chuckling nervously and brushing my hair out of my face, trying to think up something witty so I don't get mistaken for some freshman or something, 'No Susan, I do not need to see the school psychologist, yes Susan, I am okay.'

        Okay maybe the chuckle is more concerning, fuck me sideways, in the ear canal, I'm moving to space, what the fuck is wrong with y-

        "Gerard..?" Frank. Yup. Nice. Cool. That's great. 

        "Haha, uh, that would be me unfortunately, would you mind being a dear and walking me to the locker room so I don't brain myself on the stairs, please?" I ask nervously, having been interrupted in my internal self-beratement .

        The pretty boy seemed mildly startled, but recovers quickly and nods, putting his arm around my waist and guiding me down the hallway.  I lean against him more than I probably should, but I'm feeling really fuzzy and he's warm and soft and a little too sweaty from gym, but I will take advantage of this opportunity as long as he will allow me to.

        I think he's talking to me, but all I care about in this moment is getting myself in my mom's car with my things before I get sick on the really cute guy that talked to me today for some reason, so I mostly ignore it, focusing on walking in a straight line.

        I could really take a nap right now.  Pretty boy. Car. Tired.

        For the third (?) time today, I wake up in a place I most definitely did not fall asleep in.  But hey, I'm in bed and my mouth tastes clean so I can't really complain.


	10. Chapter 10

        Meatloaf is my least favorite dinner food of all time.

        I appreciate that my dad puts the time in to make a whole homemade meal for supper, and I can remember a time when sometimes we couldn't afford to have food at the table at all.  I'm grateful, I really am.  But god, meatloaf has got to be the worst effort-consuming meal idea in the history.

        Doesn't mean I don't scarf it down like a man possessed.

        I mean, hey, I'm a growing boy, I have needs.  Drawing and getting your face demolished during P.E. are exhausting activities that I more than occasionally partake in.

        Coming back up for air, I observe my family.  Dad is clearly proud of his meat conglomeration,  Mikey is clearly proud of the pouty-face selfie he is in the process of taking, and Mom is clearly seconds away from having her eyes roll out of her head in response to the antics of her youngest.  

        We're not the closest family, but we get by.

        "Anybody want a drink?" I offer, getting up from my seat from the end of the rectangular kitchen table, heading to the fridge for an Arizona tea.  I open the fridge, and in hearing no response, I sit myself back down in my seat, popping the tab off my tea.  Mikey is in the process of having his phone shut off by Mom, looking annoyed.

        "So, who wants to talk about their day first?" She demands an answer from one of us. It's not an invitation.  Figuring I've had the most eventful day, with my newly-acquired shiner, I decide to answer, quickly recalling the events of my day, managing to not mention my new friend(?), Frank.  No need to get my gay ass questioned and end up saying something embarrassing.  He's just a pretty boy that goes to the same high school as me.

        "...Hey, Gerard. Anyone home?" Mikey laughs at me, knocking on my skull, "Dad asked if you wanted seconds."

        I make a face, caught off guard, and shake my head, "No thanks, Pops."

        Soon enough, dinner is over, and I return to my room, my sweet, sweet escape.  It's an emo little shoebox refuge, and it's all mine.  I painted the walls black and the ceiling red, with a matching bed in the corner.  In hindsight, it makes the tiny room look even  smaller than it truly is, but it makes the glow in the dark star stickers on the ceiling stand out better.

        In the other corner of the room is a desk and chair, with about a million hoodies stacked on top of the arms of the office chair.  The desk and drawers in said desk are filled with my art supplies, of which I spend far too much of my paycheck from work on.  There is no good reason for a student to spend $7 on one Copic marker, Gerard.

        Next to the desk , on the wall opposite my bed, is my closet, holding god knows what.  The floor is littered with dirty clothes, the trash can is overflowing with empty water bottles, and the box fan in my window hums loudly.  I pop in a CD to my CD player, and shift the hoodies on my chair until I can settle at my desk comfortably.  Sigh.  This is the life.  Harley Poe, fake tea, a full stomach, and one less day of school that I'll have to endure.

        Getting out a 4A paper and some 2B pencils, I doodle away, sipping the remainder of my tea, thinking about the day I've had.  High school fucking sucks.  Luckily, I only have one year, 179 days left.

        Aaaaaand I fucking doodled Frank.  Typical.  I have to make a friend in this garbage town and then I get a crush on a cute boy I've known for a day.  So typical Gerard, you have to make things awkward.

        I crumple the paper up and toss it in my overflowing trash can and grab a piece I've been working on, switching out my pencils for my oil paints and palette knife, adding another layer to the current project, damning myself loudly in my head for allowing myself to get a crush on another straight guy.  

        Guess getting nailed in the head with a dodge-ball isn't the only thing that's going to keep my head pounding tonight.


	11. Chapter 11

        So having school at 7:21AM until 1:54PM every weekday for nine months is pretty inconvenient.  It's like being momentarily pregnant with a death wish and caffeine dependency.

        Scratch that, having to wake up at 5:30AM and not getting home until 3:30PM Monday through Friday every single week is pretty damn inconvenient.  Although, I think anyone could pin me as someone that would have an unlucky time in the public school system.

        Visually, it is not difficult to profile me.  The shy, brooding, insecure type.  Probably went through an entire box of tissues when Bowie died.  Definitely burns a dangerous amount of candles in my bedroom, all lit at the same time, despite not being complementary scents, but for the aesthetic.

        I mean, that's a pretty dead on description.

        Another fair assertion to make would be that I am a teenage insomniac that certainly does not get eight hours of sleep.  I mean, come on; I would have to fall asleep at 9:30PM to sleep that much on a Tuesday.  

        On some occasions, however, I am able to squeeze in the hours of sleep necessary for a healthy, growing boy as I.

        Unfortunately, I went to sleep closer to 2AM. Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck.

        Have you ever woken up blissfully refreshed, doing that stretch when you take an especially relaxed, fulfilled yawn, arms raised over your head, only to sleepily glance over your clock on your bedside table, and then feel your eyes widen comically large?

        Second day of Junior year, baby.

        I rush to get dressed, still managing to apply a respectable amount of AXE and brush my teeth with the intensity of an infant working on a bowl of dry Cheerios.

        I barely have my driver's license, so one could imagine the stress I am under.  Bag? Check.  Headphones?  Check.  Sketchbook? Check.  Wallet? Check.  Lunch?....

        I feel my stomach let out a gurgle while simultaneously dropping.  Guess I'm spending my $20 on some Dunkin Donuts this fine Tuesday morning at what feels like the middle of the day, despite barely being past 10AM.

        Entirely conscious of the shitty parking job I just pulled, I sheepishly get out of my mom's 2002 Honda Accord.  She is gonna be so pissed, I'm going to have to call her.  I let myself into the Dunkin, getting in the aggravatingly long line, and open my Dunkin app.  Sad art boys have to keep up with those coffee costs with any deals they can manage.

        After ordering a large hot black coffee,  muffin, and sandwich for lunch, I scan the eatery for a free spot that I can call my mom and scarf down my meal.  I punch in my mother's number into my phone and wait for the rest of my food to be ready, preparing to apologize profusely, thanking to any deities that she has the day off today.

        And then I lock eyes with him, and take my thanks back as soon as I gave them.

 ~~~

  It shall be noted in history books that Tuesday, September 5, 2017, at 10:24AM,  was the day and time that I stopped believing in a  god.

        My ear was still to my phone, hearing it ring. My mother picks up, and in a daze, I tell her how sorry I am, but I had to take the car to school, I woke up super late, I'm so sorry.  I don't hear a word she says in reply. I drop in a quick "I love you too, Mom," and hang up and aggressively shut off my outdated phone before fumbling it into my pocket and grabbing my hot food and beverage.

        Beckoning me over to a two-seater table in the corner, I will my feet to move forward with the grace of a toddler, sitting on the ridiculously tall steel chair, across from none other than the main character taped to my eyelids in my battle for sleep last night.


	12. Chapter 12

        Excited hazel eyes belonging to an enthusiastic teenage punk locking onto mine on a shitty Tuesday morning was possibly both the last thing I wanted, but also one of the things I needed the most.  Sitting down with my two handfuls of breakfast-y goodness, I try to settle myself while Frank goes off happily about how wild it is that we both woke up late on the same day, and both made a pit stop at the same Dunkin Donuts.  I mean, he's right, it's pretty extraordinary, and certainly not something I had expected, feeling more disheveled than I ever have in a hot minute.

        "Hey man, I didn't expect to see you here," I mention while grabbing my coffee and bringing it to my person, eyes trained on my schoolbag that I hang on the back of my chair.  He continues talking, and I listen politely, putting my lunch into my bag and pulling my breakfast sandwich out of the paper bag in comes in, setting it down and finally looking up at him as he talks.

        He kinda looks like hell.

        Bags under his eyes, hair on the greasy side, paler than I remember him looking yesterday, a flush dusting his cheeks.  And I'm staring at this poor guy again.

        I drop my eyes to his hands, trying to keep up with his quick conversation.  He's holding a small hot beverage, which, by the string hanging out of the side I can surmise is a tea,  and a strawberry donut, the kind with the sprinkles on the top.

        His hands move a lot, I notice, and dwarf the tiny beverage he's holding.  I recall him telling me he plays guitar, and I file that away in my head.  It's kinda funny how he waves his donut around while he talks, clearly passionate about how homework shouldn't be assigned over the summer, "I already work a 9-5 over the summer, it's total bullshit they let teachers give us more shit to work on!" he exclaims particularly loudly, causing me to snort and cover my face.  I'm not obsessing about him, he's just so entertaining, or so I tell myself.  I agree with him, starting on my food and hoping he doesn't make me laugh again and choke.

        ...Is that a tattoo on his hand?

        He's wearing a black hoodie, and the sleeves are totally too long for him, but I swear I just saw a tattoo on the webbing of his right hand.  Or, I guess his left? Because I'm looking at it, it's his left?  Whatever.

        "Is that a tattoo?" I ask as soon as there's a lull in the conversation, which takes a few minutes to happen, with how talkative he is.

        He grins and pulls up the sleeve of his hoodie, pointing to it, and goes straight into explaining it.  It's the outline of half a broken heart, a stick and poke his cousin gave him for his sixteenth birthday.  

        "And my mom was so pissed, cuz, yanno, it's on my hand, you can't get a job, blah blah blah.  Sure, a reputable tattoo parlor wouldn't give a sixteen year old kid a hand tattoo, or any tattoo for any matter, but my cousin is the coolest.  One time, she..."

        He is really good at keeping conversation going.  I know I'm kind of garbage at talking, but he never seems to be able to stop, always having another story that he can give, about helping his dad fix his car, building a motorcycle with his uncle when he was thirteen and accidentally running over Zia Sofia's foot over, finding a stray dog and nursing it back to health before having to give it away to a shelter because they couldn't afford to keep her.

        He slows down a bit after the story of having to give away Bela, a little more somber.  His tea seems cold because he takes a sip of it and makes a face, tossing it in the trash beside our little table in the corner.  I notice the ice in my coffee is pretty melted, taking a big sip and checking the time on my face, grimacing.  We're so past late.

        "Hey, school lets out at 1:54 and it's... quarter to one.  I don't think they're even gonna let us in.  Let's skip?" I offer, and his face lights up again.  He nods, and I tidy up the little table, grabbing my half-done, watered down coffee.  I have never talked to someone for this long, even people I've known for years.  

        Frank mentions that he walked to the shop, so I offer him a ride.  I can't go home until 3:00PM, we might as well hang out with all of this time to kill.  This... this is nice.  He's so nice.


End file.
